


In Sickness

by Moit



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-quest. AU. Frodo's sick and Aragorn cares for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness

Another deep hacking cough issued from Frodo’s throat and he spit something thick into the handkerchief he held.

“It sounds like you’re getting worse,” Aragorn said, walking through the door with a cup in his hand.

Frodo laid back against the pillows and eyed the cup warily. Three days of sickness and three days of Aragorn’s vile-tasting medication (that didn’t work) did _not_ make Frodo a happy hobbit.

Frodo took a deep wheezing breath and coughed again. This time it was dry and made his throat burn. His chest ached from all the coughing.

“What is _that_?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at the cup Aragorn held. His voice sounded weak and raspy to his own ears. Three days of nearly non-stop coughing will do that.

“It is just tea. I thought it might soothe your throat.”

But as Aragorn came closer, the herbal scent of the tea hit Frodo’s nostrils and his stomach revolted. He was up and out of the bed like his bottom was on fire, headed for the chamber pot. He made it in time to lose the contents of his stomach, which wasn’t much. The burn in his throat was nearly unbearable, but he retched until he was spitting up bile. Even then, he dry-heaved over the pot until his stomach stopped convulsing.

Aragorn was on his knees behind Frodo, wiping the hobbit’s mouth and face with a clean flannel when he was done. Frodo leaned back against the warm weight of the Man. He pulled his nightshirt over his knees, hugging them to his chest.

“We need to get you back in bed,” Aragorn said softly, threading his fingers through the soft hair on Frodo’s feet.

“Don’t want to. ‘S cool here.”

Aragorn smiled against Frodo’s neck. “I know. But sitting on a stone floor all night isn’t going to help your illness any.”

“Don’t wanna get up,” Frodo said petulantly, laying his much smaller hands atop Aragorn’s. Aragorn’s hands were nearly the length of Frodo’s feet, which were twice the size of Frodo’s hands.

“Must I carry you, Master Hobbit?”

Frodo closed his eyes and nodded. If he had it his way, they’d just spend the night on the floor of the privvy. Aragorn would never allow that, of course.

Sliding on of his knees from around Frodo’s body, Aragorn stood, gently hefting the hobbit in his arms. He settled Frodo back in bed with the sheets and blankets folded down, away from his body, even though he knew Frodo would get cold and request them within the hour. He had already disposed of the tea himself the minute Frodo ran from the room. It never ceased to amaze him how one could always gather the energy to run for the chamber pot, no matter how sick he was.

Frodo groaned and pulled at the neck of his nightshirt. “It’s too hot for this thing.”

Aragorn helped Frodo pull the nightshirt over his head, marveling at the beauty before him that refused to be dampened by illness.

Frodo huffed back against the pillows, shifting to get comfortable. “You should have left me in the privvy,” he grumbled, rolling onto his side.

Aragorn ignored the comment and laid a hand on Frodo’s forehead. The hobbit felt cool and clammy.

Frodo leaned in to the touch. “Now I’m cold,” he said, looking up at Aragorn from under long dark eyelashes.

Shaking his head, Aragorn pulled the sheet up over Frodo’s nude body, leaving the rest of the blankets folded at the foot of the bed.

“Better?”

Frodo closed his eyes and nodded.

Aragorn placed a gentle kiss on Frodo’s forehead and turned to leave, but a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay with me until I fall asleep?” he asked, without opening his eyes.

“Always,” Aragorn whispered, pulling a chair over. He stroked the back of Frodo’s hand with his thumb, watching as the hobbit’s breath began to even out. It looked like he would finally get some much-needed sleep.


End file.
